


Mr. Criminal

by spiderValWrites (Mei_kun)



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: CACW compliant, Character Death, Gen, Hostage Crisis, Injured Ned Leeds, John Q (movie) plot, Ned too-cool-for-you Leeds, Post Dr. Strange, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, injured Peter parker, it's there if you squint, plus micro plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-07 05:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15212576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mei_kun/pseuds/spiderValWrites
Summary: An unexpected trip to the ER lands Peter and Ned in a hostage crisis situation where there are no real bad guys, only one very, very desperate dad.(Closely based on the movie John Q)





	1. Chapter 1

  
_‘r u sure u don’t need me der?’_

_‘yep mrs leeds’s otw’_

_‘k let me kno wen she’s there. Tel ned to feel better’_

Peter lifted his eyes up from the screen of his phone. Ned was still filling up his patient’s form so his mom only had to sign it when she arrived, Dr. Palmer watching over him by the foot of his hospital bed. He looked pretty chill now. Peter turned back to texting May, sending a quick ‘ _k. See u l8tr dinner. Larb u may_ ’. He felt eyes on him. He looked up to see the pretty ginger haired doctor smiling at him. “Girlfriend?” she asked.

“Aunt,” Peter answered politely, thinning his lips, offering her a small smile of his own.

Dr. Palmer’s brows quirked.

“N-no girlfriend,” he added hurriedly.

Dr. Palmer adopted a look similar to May’s when she particularly thought Peter was being “cute”. It was usually followed by a hard pinch on the cheek that always made him feel like he was five. Thankfully Dr. Palmer only returned her attention back at Ned, her slate-blue eyes trained on where he was writing. “What about you, Ned? Any girlfriends?”

Ned stopped writing to make eye contact with Dr. Palmer, his face somber.

“Girls think we’re losers.”

Dr. Palmer paused, and then she laughed, dainty and all pretty like her. It sounded really nice. “You’ll have to excuse them. They’re still young,” she said, amused gaze shifting from Ned to Peter and staying there.

Peter’s breath got caught up in his throat. His phone vibrated in his hand while his brain scrambled for something witty to say; something Spider-Man-y, something Mr. Stark-ish...

“Um,” he mumbled and then made the mistake of looking down and reading May’s reply, “ ‘ _larb u too bby’_.”

Peter’s eyes widened, head snapping back up, jaw coming loose.

You. Dumb. _Shit_.

Heat boiled up from his neck and spread out across his face.

“Hm?” Dr. Palmer only continued to beam at him.

Peter swallowed, willing the cushioned stool he was sitting on to sink him into the tiled floor. It didn’t. Fortunately for him, even with a not-so-dislocated kneecap anymore, his best friend was totally made of awesome and always had his back:

“Uh, how ‘bout you, um, Dr. Palmer?” Ned timely interjected like the real superhero he was. “What’s your boyfriend like?”

That got another pretty laugh from Dr. Palmer, this time loud.

“I need a boyfriend first to answer that,” she replied, mercifully turning back to Ned. She shook her head. “Actually, I’d have to have a life first.”

“But you’re a doctor.”

“ _Exactly_.”

Ned’s face scrunched up, obviously thinking Dr. Palmer didn’t make sense. Peter completely agreed with his sentiments. Doctors were cool, and Dr. Palmer was one _and_ she was really pretty too. “It’s not always this relaxed in the ER,” she elaborated kindly, sticking her hands into her coat pockets. “Anyway, you boys going to be alright waiting here alone?”

“Oh.” Ned quickly filled out the rest of his form and then offered it up to Dr. Palmer who was already shaking her head and waving her hand.

“It’s okay,” she said, putting her hand back into her coat pocket. “Just give it to the nurse’s station when your mother signs it.”

Peter heard something—her phone, most likely—vibrate inside her pocket. Dr. Palmer’s attention flickered down to it before she fixed it on him again. “It’s cinnamon bun day so Mrs. Myzel might take a while.”

Peter nodded. “W-we’re good.”

“My mom’s already close too. …I think,” Ned followed-up easily.

Dr. Palmer gave another smile, regarding them both now. “Okay. But if you boys need anything just ask a nurse.”

Ned said his thanks while Peter wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. Dr. Palmer retreated behind the white curtain drawn around Ned’s bed, closing the gap she left behind, separating them from the slow hustle and bustle of Metro-General Hospital’s ER. Ned side-eyed Peter. Judging.

Peter deflated in his seat. “I know, man. _I know_ ,” he groaned, his ears catching Dr. Palmer’s quiet snort and chuckle; still sounded pretty but no doubt a delayed reaction prompted on his expense.

“At least she was pretty chill about it,” Ned offered with a non-mean Ned-grin as if reading his thoughts.

Peter made a face.

“She didn’t laugh,” Ned added.

“Not at my face.”

“Hence, why she’s chill.”

Peter’s mouth pursed. Point. Mr. Stark and May would have laughed point blank. Ms. Potts and Col. Rhodes, too, for that matter, if not a bit more tamed or reserved. When everyone found out that super hearing could mean hearing through multiple 10-inch thick walls on worst days, those who tried eventually just stopped sparing him his pride. “Useless effort,” Mr. Stark had said while Peter tried to convince him not to have FRIDAY schedule upgrading all three of his bedrooms with ‘ _SHIELD_ ’-grade soundproofing. Peter sighed, tuning out the noise outside Ned’s makeshift room and putting that embarrassing episode with Dr. Palmer behind him. It wouldn’t be the last time he’d commit a massive brain fart in front of someone, Parker Luck and all. “How’s the knee?” he asked by way of changing subjects.

“I guess I’ll have to retire from dragon slaying now.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Peter’s face pinched. “Dragonborns _don’t_ retire.”

Ned snorted and then cleared his throat. “ ' _I used to be your guy in the chair—' "_

“Don’t you finish that,” Peter pointed a finger at him, grinning but serious. “Guys in the chair don’t retire either.”

“Then what should I say? I... _used to go to school_ …? But that’s so lame, dude. I don’t wanna be a dropout. Nobody likes a dropout.”

Peter forced a laugh, then, “Yeah, true. But seriously, Ned, you’re okay?”

Ned gave his left knee an appraising look. Peter waited for his verdict, his gaze sliding on said knee too. The accident earlier at Mrs. Myzel’s candy store was insane. Like Final Destination insane. One moment he finally decided on a licorice flavor to give Mr. Stark and Ben for tomorrow and then the next thing he knew his ‘spidey-sense’, as Happy dubbed it, tingled right before a store clerk accidentally dropped a large sack of something off of the counter. Peter was too far to prevent it from happening without risking his secret identity. He wished he took the risk.

He should had.

The simple mistake had caused a mop to topple over some displayed candies causing a customer to step back in surprise which then prompted Ned to react the same. Only, Ned inexplicably ended up falling down with a sharp, pained yelp. When Peter finally got to him, he was balancing precariously on his right leg while his left was stretched out stiffly, his hands clamped around his left knee in a death grip. Peter could still picture exactly how it looked when Ned uncovered the injury. The kneecap was off to the wrong side underneath the skin, like an _inch_ off, like it slipped and then slotted out of place, the skin contouring over it in a way it shouldn’t.

“Stop looking like that, dude.”

Peter’s brows furrowed as he looked back up at Ned, the comment snapping him out of his thoughts. “Looking like what?” he asked. “I’m not, I’m not looking like anything.”

Ned sighed. He paused then opened his mouth and then closed it and then sighed again before he finally seemed to make up his mind, “Dude, it’s fine. Okay? It doesn’t even hurt anymore. …Well, as long as I don’t move it. But it just feels... stiff, right now. And weird. But mostly stiff.”

Peter nodded. He really should have taken that risk.

“Well at least—“

A number of panicked shrieks and scrapes of running feet interrupted Ned from finishing. He locked eyes with Peter, eyes wide. “What’s that?”

Peter strained his ears, registering every sound inside the ER, picking out the ones that didn't belong; heavy clinking links— _chains_. Then a _snap_. No. A _click_ — _a lock click_. Peter stood up.

“Peter?”

“Stay here,” he said, already moving away. Someone pleaded for some guy to see reason. His stomach clenched. That didn't sound good at all.

“ _Dude_.”

Peter held one of his hands back at Ned, wordlessly asking him to wait, the other pulling the curtain aside, making a window to the outside. “I’ll be right back,” he said, stepping out into the ER and right into the way of a gun.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The muzzle of a gun was pointed dead straight at his chest from a few feet away, a black man wearing a faded blue Mets cap was holding it in one outstretched hand with his finger on the trigger, and a bespectacled doctor was clutching said man’s other arm while it trapped him in a tight chokehold. Peter’s brain frizzed and failed to compute.

Bad guy. Hostage. Gun.

Obvious math.

The familiar leaden weight of dread squashing his chest was ever present. The sharp, needle thin probing at the base of his skull, not. Not even a tingle. Nor goosebumps. Nothing from his trusty spidey-sense.

The current that skittered under his skin, however, _that_ he definitely felt.

He forced his feet to stay rooted on the ground, fighting off the burning need to avoid the person rushing towards him from his blindspot. Friendly or not, it didn’t matter. Anything to set-off Mr. Criminal, or probable Mr. Criminal 2, into shooting was an absolute no-go. Ned was too close. Peter had been hit by an out of bound bullet one too many times to know that one hand gun-holds didn’t work too well outside movies, YouTube, and agents.

The incoming person—woman, descended on him like a mad, dark grizzly protecting her cub in one of those NatGeo documentaries. She hooked her arm around him and smooshed him hard against her back, blocking him completely from harm’s way. The strong astringent smell of antiseptic told him that she must at least be a nurse. A quick appraisal of her clothes told him she was and— _this is so not the time to be distracted, Parker!_ “Ma’am—“

“Don’t shoot,” she said slowly, carefully, ignoring Peter, her voice whole but trembling. “Don’t. Shoot. _Please._ ”

Peter couldn’t see pass the nurse’s shoulder. He heard a sigh before it was followed by two sets of walking feet, one heavy and briskly pushing forward, the other dragged forward. “You got somebody there with you, kid?”

Peter blanked. However he expected the bad guy to sound, he wasn’t expecting the mellow, gruff weary timbre that reminded him too much of Ben when he used to he get home from night long over times or how Mr. Stark definitely would after his three-day meeting at DC tomorrow. Bad guys didn’t really sound like that. Not the ones he encountered till now at least. The nurse leaned back as if to cover Peter more as the footsteps closed onto them into a stop. This near, he could see the bad guy towering over them and could see himself easily mistaking him as one of his classmates’ dads.

The bad guy pushed the lanky doctor free to stumble to their direction and gestured for the curtains. Peter was a second too late before he realized what the action meant. He darted out of the nurse’s cover to throw himself out in front of the bad guy, heart in mouth, blurting out a hasty defense for Ned as the doctor completely pulled the curtains aside—“He can’t walk!”

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” the bad guy asked, head briefly turning to Ned.

“Dislocated kneecap,” Peter answered promptly. “He’s not a, he’s not a threat.”

The bad guy regarded him silently, short brows meeting and droopy mouth setting into a hard frown. “Jesus Christ, Bates. These boys are the same age as your son,” the doctor hissed while the nurse made an attempt to pull Peter behind her again. Peter avoided her this time.

The bad guy lifted his cap and raked his fingers across his overgrown, flattened buzzcut, “Alright, alright. Okay,” he mumbled, putting the cap back and fixing his attention at Peter. “You go with them and sit over there at the waiting, alright, kid? Go.”

Peter clenched his teeth, eyes pulling to Ned.

“Your friend’s going nowhere, right? Just go, kid. I don’t want no reason to use anything on anyone, okay?”

Ned was pale faced and wide-eyed and obviously having a silent major freak out. He mouths a ‘ _No_ ’ at him before he could even form the thought. Peter’s lips thinned.—

“I-I’ll be okay here, dude. Just-just do what he says,” Ned blurted out. “You’re not gonna shoot me, right m-mister?”

“I’m not going to shoot nobody, kid.”

“S-see, Peter? It’s fine.”

Peter chanced a glance at the bad guy. The man looked at him straight in the eye, dark eyes unwavering.

“I promise,” he said.

Peter’s spidey-sense stayed deathly still.

The gentle hand that clamped on his shoulder wasn’t unexpected. “Come on, honey. It’s going to be okay,” the nurse said.

Peter turned his attention back at Ned. Ned gave him that patented desperate Ned-look that begged him not to do anything because it’d be totally stupid. Peter didn’t move. He didn’t stop the nurse from steering him forward.

The doctor followed closely after them. He heard the man ask Ned to sit tight and to wait this hostage thing out before following them as well. Peter’s shoulders relaxed a margin and his hands loosened from tight fists.

The waiting area already seated seven other hostages; Dr. Palmer, a portly security guard, a blonde woman, a hispanic mother hugging her baby, a guy clutching his arm and sporting a black eye, and a pregnant black woman. Dr. Palmer was quick to beckon him and pull him down to sit beside her when he came over. “Mr. Bates, these people need help,” she gritted out, squeezing Peter’s wrist hard.

“We’ll get to that in a sec, okay, doc?” the man replied. “You there,” he said pointing at the security guard, “you got the keys to the elevator?”

The guard nodded.

“Okay, come with me,” he said, coming for the guard and pulling him up to his feet to lead him to where the elevators were supposedly were. “These good doctors will fix you folks up when we get back,” he said as they drew away. “Hospital’s under new management now! Free healthcare for everybody!”

Peter watched them go, the man—Mr. Bates—back was unguarded. He could—

“Can I possibly borrow that?”

Peter’s head turned to the blonde woman in response. He blinked at her.

“Your phone,” she said, calm and measured. “Calling the police would be wise for our current situation.”

It took another second before Peter caught on to what the woman wanted to do. He fumbled and unclenched his hand, only to stare at the blackened screen of his phone, spider cracks mottling the entire surface of it...

... _oh, no._

“It’s okay, honey. I’m sure we’ll get help soon,” the nurse said while Dr. Palmer patted his shoulder.

“ _We better_. I ain’t gonna fucking give birth to my baby like this!” the pregnant woman shrilled that then started a barrage of complaints from her, prompting the baby to start wailing; Spider-Man’s name somehow cropping up in the midst of it.

Peter winced. Even if he’d been in patrol he wouldn’t know about this until the police got wind of it; added that they weren’t in Queens it’d take him a good while before he could get here. But that wasn’t the case now, was it? He was here. Right now. And she was right. Spider-Man could do something. _Spider-Man should do something._ He tried to get a view at Mr. Bates and the security guard, the ongoing complaints and the sound of plastic and metal getting smashed spurning him to think of a plan fast. The gentle squeeze on his wrist derailed him from it and made him pay attention to Dr. Palmer. “It’s going to be okay. Okay, Peter? Ned’s already calling for help,” she said, nudging her head to Ned’s direction, “see? Look.”

Ned looked up from his phone and turned his head towards them as if hearing Dr. Palmer. He gave them a thumbs up.

“Good job, kid,” the nurse mumbled before setting out to help the lanky doctor calm the pregnant woman down.

Ned was still looking at their direction. At Peter. And Peter knew exactly what he wanted to say without him saying it.

Peter hunkered down; he couldn’t just not do anything now. A hush blew over their group once Mr. Bates and the guard came back. As promised, Mr. Bates told Dr. Palmer and her colleagues to attend to the other hostages. Peter’s eyes darted to Mr. Bates's gun then and again. He'll throw himself at it. Cover it completely so even if it fired it’ll only hit him...

Mr. Bates's eyes met Peter's and then he gave him a small, tired smile that made the lines on his face seem deeper. Peter swallowed, planning put into a halt. He’d seen that look one too many times on Ben and Mr. Stark. It always warranted a movie night.

Peter’s eyes fell on his hands and over the ruined StarkPhone Mr. Stark gave him.

‘ _Do we have a deal, kid? '_

His spidey-sense was still not reacting.

He’ll stay put for now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied about wrapping this up now. Probably best I can do is write more efficiently because I am so not going to spend five weeks for a warm up o,e
> 
> There will be a couple of cameos revealed next installment.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments dears!


	3. Chapter 3

“Ms. Temple, is this it?”

Peter held the unopened orange SAM Splint pack to the nurse for inspection. It didn’t take a second before Ms. Temple was nodding at him in open approval. “Yes, exactly that one. Good job, hon,” she said, relieving him of the medicare item.

“Anything else I can help with?”

“No, you’re good, Peter. Just…relax, and keep Mrs. Ignacio and her baby company. I’ll check on you guys in a second.”

Peter lingered for a moment more just in case, but Ms. Temple was already tearing off the pack’s plastic cover and focusing back on the dude with the black eye and broken arm—a Mr. Arthur King who was apparently British and whom Peter, honestly, didn’t peg as an 'Arthur King'. Too young…ish? And laid back? ...Chill? The dude didn’t seem to be fazed at all. Not from when Peter joined them at the waiting area till now.

Not that everyone was tense right now, not really. Not quite exactly.

Dr. Palmer and the security guard, Mr. Conlin, were busy settling the pregnant woman, Ms. Williams, on one of the gurney beds over there at Ned’s. Then back here at the waiting area, Dr. Kinsely, the lanky doctor, had put on gloves and was prepped up at the last row with sutures stuff, stitching up the gash on the blonde woman’s palm, who, as it turned out, was a retired psychiatrist. Peter had a passing thought that she was a bit too young to be retired, she was just maybe around May’s age, but Dr. Du Maurier seemed to have been involved in some sort of accident that caused her to stop accepting patients. The specifics of it vague thanks to her and Dr. Kinsely’s way of conversing with each other. If Mr. Stark hadn’t already beaten them to it twice over, both doctors could be accused of turning evasiveness into an art form.

Peter glanced up to the nurses’ station while he made his way to Mrs. Ignacio and her baby. Mr. Bates caught his eyes from where he was leaning on the counter. The man gave him a curt nod and a tight smile before he resumed his silent vigil. He hadn’t left his post since Dr. Palmer and her colleagues set out to work.

It was weird.

Peter sat down, leaving one seat between him and Mrs. Ignacio. The gun was still in Mr. Bates’s hand; the safety off and his finger still in the trigger. He possessed every threat a hostage taker could possess, but the thing was he hadn’t done much hostage-taker-y-like actions against them aside from keeping them locked in the ER. The man pretty much left them to their own devices after securing the exit points. It was weird and bizarre and was probably, most definitely messing up with Peter’s spidey-sense.

“ _Estas bien, niño?_ ”

The question had Peter face Mrs. Igacio's concerned face. “ _Sí, estoy bien, señora,_ ” he replied, a smidge tentative from having been plucked out from his musings, the foreign words coming to him with relative ease.

“ _Tienes buen español._ ”

Peter ducked his head on the unexpected praise. “ _So-solo un poco."_  He’d only helped with simple translations for her earlier.

“ _Sí lo es_ ,” Mrs. Ignacio insisted softly. “ _No tendrás problemas para conversar con los lugareños en casa."_

Her baby then gave a tiny hiccup, and started to wake up despite her efforts on quieting her voice. She fussed over her baby in controlled haste, rubbing its back and hushing it gently as it started to grumble and cry. Mrs. Ignacio sighed heavily in clear resigned frustration and worry, “ _No entiendo por qué está haciendo esto. Él no parece un mal hombre.”_

Peter wasn’t able to translate what she said quite right, the distant noise of arriving sirens snatching his attention and making his head turn towards the direction of the ER’s front entrance. He was already overly acquainted with the sound to know that the police had arrived. It shouldn’t be long now till they make contact with them and…

… _of course._

When the police called, Mr. Bates would make sure to answer it. That was why he was at the nurses' station. For the phone. He’d want to make his demands because that was the whole point of hostage taking. Making demands.

The simple conclusion had Peter inhaling deeply to try and calm his nerves before they started making him nervous. He sucked in another lungful of air, his head bowing downwards and his hands curling on top of his knees. Things could get ugly fast. He’d decided to stay put a while ago, but if Mr. Bates’s demands weren’t good—no. That wasn’t right. There was no such thing as ‘good demands’ in a hostage crisis situation, no demand good enough to endanger anyone, never would be.

“ _Desearía que nos dejara ir ya,_ ” Mrs. Ignacio whispered, most likely to herself.

Peter heard and understood it regardless.

“Me too,” he murmured under his breath, but knew better.

There was no way Mr. Bates would just let them go like Mrs. Ignacio wanted. That was too good to be true. And while the police would rescue them for sure, Peter shouldn’t just completely rely on them to do everything and hope for the best. He was Spider-Man. He didn’t have his suit right now, nor his webshooters for that matter, but suit or no suit he we was still Spider-Man. He was responsible for everyone here.

Nobody could get hurt. Not on his watch.

Peter waited and readied himself, eyes and ears alert for anything, muscles taunting in anticipation to take immediate action.

He bolted right up from his seat when several long minutes later Dr. Palmer started marching forward straight to Mr. Bates, her face stony and determined, Mr. Conlin slowly jogging after her. Mrs. Ignacio’s hand whipped up and grabbed Peter’s wrist just as the security guard stopped his pursuit. Peter froze, forcing himself to stop twisting away from the woman and hurt her accidentally. “ _Niño_ ,” she hissed in warning.

Peter faced the woman, the protest leaping from the tip of his tongue before he could open his mouth, “But ma’am—"

“ _Te quedas aquí._ ”

“But—"

“ ** _Niño_.** ”

Peter flinched at Mrs. Ignacio’s hard tone, thoroughly chastised despite panic shooting his nerves into a frenzied need to move his ass and provide Dr. Palmer protection. Mrs. Ignacio stared straight up to Peter’s eyes, her dark eyes firm. “ _Stay. No move,_ ” was her ultimatum.

Dr. Palmer’s steely announcement, however, yanked Peter’s head to face towards the nurses’ station. “Her cervix is already dilated to six centimeters.”

Mr. Bates only furrowed his brows. Peter zoned in to his hand, to the gun.

“Her baby is coming. Soon,” Dr. Palmer said, each word slow and heavy.

Mrs. Ignacio’s grip slackened. Peter didn’t waste the opportunity to free himself and push forward, careful but brisk. He was too far away from Dr. Palmer to do shit.

“How, how long?” Mr. Bates asked, backing behind the counter.

“Two, three hours tops.”

“Can’t you—“

“ _ **Mr. Bates.**_ ”

Dr. Palmer’s tone made Peter shoulders jump, halting him dead in his tracks. Even with the brimming buzz of almost dread and half panic positively bleeding out from his ears, May and Ms. Potts’s disgruntled and reproaching faces flashed vividly at the forefront of his mind. _Must be a female thing._ —Peter shook the thought away. This was so not the time to be random. He should be moving.

The phone rang, shrill and loud.

 _Brrriiinnnngggggg! Brrriiinnnngggggg_ —

Peter’s breath lodged in his throat.

Everything stopped.

Dr. Palmer didn’t. “Mr. Bates, Ms. Williams needs to—"

“Give me five minutes, doc,” Mr. Bates interjected, cutting her off. Dr. Palmer didn’t argue further. Mr. Bates took the still ringing phone to a corner.

Peter snapped out of his daze and quickly darted to Dr. Palmer’s side. “You’re not thinking of being cute and protecting me, are you, Mr. Parker?” Dr. Palmer scolded quietly in greeting. “Leave those things to someone like Spider-Man or whoever else in a unitard."

“um…” Peter squeezed his lips together in a thin line to stop himself from cringing.

“You stay put right there.”

Dr. Palmer’s hand grabbed hold of Peter’s fingers and squeezed them as tightly as when May did back when he was still a little kid and gotten himself lost in Queens Place. Mr. Bates lifted the receiver and answered the phone.

“Your dad’s coming,” Dr. Palmer suddenly said.

Peter’s brain promptly shut down.

… _wha?_

_Dad?_

He didn’t have a…

“M-Mr. Stark isn’t my dad!” he blurted out in a rushed squeak. Mr. Stark just drove him to school once. _Once!_ Ned just never let it go because they drove thru Taco Bell to grab breakfast and—

“No, no, no. _NO!_ ”

Mr. Bates’s outburst shocked Peter out of spiraling down and getting lost in his thoughts and finally get him to notice that Dr. Palmer’s grip on him had already become so tensed. Mr. Bates continued with his agitated tirade without giving Peter time to figure out how much he had missed. The cost of silly distraction paid in triple by constricting trepidation as the man punctuated his every point with his gun.

“You’re not fucking listening to me, George! I want my son to be put on that list! You hear me? I want my son, my son, _Michael Jamie Bates_ , on that fucking list.”

“ _I hear you and I will get your son in that list, John. I promise you, I will. But you have to do something for me too,_ ” the police officer replied through the phone, the calmness in his voice grave and thick. “ _Alright, John?_ ”

Mr. Bates inhaled deeply and slowly released his breath. Peter didn’t breathe.

“ _John?_ ”

“I’ll give you some hostages, I will do that. Okay,” Mr. Bates answered.

“ _Alright, good. We have a—_ ”

“But I want my son on that heart donors’ list in the next hour. First priority,” Mr. Bates cut-off. “Or else...or else, I’ll start giving you bodies, George. You got that? It’s four-thirty-seven pm. You got an hour. You got that, George? An hour.”

Peter’s stomach dropped at the declaration, both at the immediate understanding of what Mr. Bates was really demanding and what the next hour would spell for all of them.

“Call me back when it’s done.”

Mr. Bates put down the receiver back on the phone, deaf to the police officer’s attempt to negotiate for a longer deadline. He turned and faced Peter head on. He looked at him like he was seeing him but not seeing him.

Peter opened his mouth without thinking except feeling, knowing he needed to fix this somehow, someway. “Mr. Bates… I, um..."

_−no demand good enough. Never would be. Ever. Ever._

The man raised his gun. Whatever words coming up from Peter throat died while his body completely froze, unable to do anything but wait for the painful stab from his spidey-sense bursting angrily over the imminent danger.

No pain came.

Mr. Bates held the gun aloft and knocked the back of his fist on his bowed head, sighing and muttering something incomprehensible as he did so. He looked back up at Peter again, mouth thinning wearily.

“You’ll be alright, kid. You’re getting outta here,” he said.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Niño_ / Child (boy); endearment  
>  _Estas bien, niño_ / Are you okay, boy/child/kid  
>  _Sí, estoy bien, señora_ / Yes, I’m alright, ma’am  
>  _Tienes buen español_ / You have good Spanish  
>  _Solo un poco_ / Just a little bit  
>  _Sí lo es_ / Yes, it is  
>  _No tendrás problemas para conversar con los lugareños en casa_ / You won’t have any problems chatting up the locals back home  
>  _No entiendo por qué está haciendo esto. Él no parece un mal hombre_ / I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He doesn’t look like a bad man  
>  _Desearía que nos dejara ir ya_ / I wish he would just let us go already  
>  _Te quedas aquí_ / You stay right here
> 
> \--
> 
> Nurse Temple is Claire Temple (MCU one) and Police George is Capt. George Stacy, yes. 
> 
> The others, well. 
> 
> Tony and May’s (epically small) participation in this excerpt is in the ending, if anyone’s wondering.
> 
> Spanish powered by google translate. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, dears!


	4. Chapter 4

Peter’s mouth parted, brain fumbling quickly for a panicked stricken protest, “I—”

“Don’t argue, kid. I want you out,” Mr. Bates said, his brows furrowing. He gestured to Ned and Ms. William’s direction with a wave of his gun. “Move.”

“But—”

Dr. Palmer yanked his wrist, “Not one more word. Come on. You help me with Ms. Williams.”

Peter didn’t allow himself to be dragged, rooting himself on his spot. Mr. Bates sighed, “ _Kid._ ”

“You don’t have to do this, Mr. Bates,” Peter begged, his hand shooting up and fisting tightly atop the counter. “Please, sir. Please, p-please there should be—”

“There is none! Alright, kid? _None._ This is the only way I can save Mikey.”

“ _But sir—_ ”

Mr. Bates raised his gun and pointed it at Dr. Palmer. Peter’s eyes widened, his insides abruptly sucked empty. Dr. Palmer’s fingers around his wrist turned rigid. His spidey-sense remained uselessly quiet. He scrambled and shielded Dr. Palmer. “M-Mr. Bates stop-d-don’t—!”

Dr. Palmer protested loudly behind Peter and forcefully tried to switch their positions but he didn’t dare budge. 

“I know what you’re doing, kid,” Mr. Bates said, impossibly steady. “You got it in your head that you can be a hero, maybe decided you’d try being like Spider-Man for a day. That’s cute. I can admire that, even.”

Peter blanched; felt like he’d been slugged across the face. 

_...am Spider-Man. I am—_

He wasn’t.

_He's not._

Mr. Bates continued somberly without pause, “But not right now. I can’t. I’m not doing this for fun, kid. I’m doing this for _my kid_ and I need this to _work_. So I want you to do exactly as I say, and stop making me problems.”

_I…_

“Please, kid. You’re making this more worse than it already is.”

What little fight keeping Peter stubbornly together by the seams unraveled with pitiful ease; every ounce of his strength draining down from his fingertips and down from his feet. Mr. Bates lowered his gun. Dr. Palmer’s hand clamped on Peter’s shoulder heavily and steered him around, “Come on, let’s get you out,” she said too softly, too kindly it stung. Peter didn’t resist and allowed himself to be gently pushed along, Mr. Bates followed them from behind but only until the waiting area. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, weighing down each of his step. He should be helping, he wanted to help; he wasn’t. 

Dr. Palmer squeezed his shoulder before she started attending to Ms. Williams. “Hey, dude,” Ned’s greeting sounded as small as Peter felt. Peter managed to raise his head and mouthed a pathetic ‘hey’ back at him.

A wobbly grin then pulled up the corners of Ned's mouth, his expression turning into something cheeky.

"Your dad's coming, man," he unbelievably said.

Peter's mouth dried. Despite himself, a small spark of embarrassment flared up in his chest and warmed his cheeks; Ned’s teasing like magic, pulling him out of his funk before he completely sunk under. Peter snorted weakly, mentally clocking himself. Right. Even a stupid, dumb, useless kid didn’t have the time to be mopey right now. “God. You’re the worst, Ned,” he grumbled almost appropriately, thankful and a smidge—a whole lot—exasperated. “He’s not my dad.”

Ned shrugged, unapologetic. “Sure, dude.”

Peter made a face to humor Ned more for a short second, mouthing ' _the worst_ ' at him again before he approached Dr. Palmer to help her with Ms. Williams, quickly deciding on what he should do. It would be a bit reckless and really, really stupid—May and-or Mr. Stark  would rip him a new one kind of stupid—but he knew he had to do it. Make good with the original game-plan, the only plan that mattered. Keep everyone from getting hurt. Ned, Dr. Palmer… _everyone_. He couldn’t do anything else, but he could do that. He _will_ do that.

Dr. Palmer paused from helping Ms. Williams sit up, giving Peter a once over, before she gave him an okay to help, “Support her on her left, Peter,” she instructed accommodatingly. Peter did as he was told and, between the two of them, they got Ms. Williams off the bed and into the waiting wheelchair without any problems.

“You be behaving yourself, now, boy. Is that clear?” Ms. Williams said, her eyes narrowed sternly despite the obvious discomfort marring her face.

Peter clamped his teeth together and kept his mouth shut, nodding instead of lying outright and getting caught for it. He moved behind her, exchanging quick glances with Ned, and then pushed her back to the waiting area. Dr. Palmer gave Ned a few reassuring words as parting before following them. 

Mr. Bates spoke up upon their arrival. “Kid,” he started not unkindly. He seemed like he was about to say something more but then decided against it. Mr. Bates nudged his head to Mrs. Ignacio’s direction, “They’ll be going with you, too. Tell her to get ready to go for me, alright, kid?”

Peter clenched and unclenched his grip on the wheelchair’s push handles, he didn’t wait for Dr. Palmer to encourage him into going to Mrs. Ignacio. This was good. Mr. Bates adding more hostages to go free was good, and it also didn’t change anything. Mrs. Ignacio was obviously not happy with Peter when he eventually caught her attention, but he rushed to tell her the good news, not giving her the chance to scold him, “ _El Sr. Bates di-dijo que usted y su bebé también están saliendo, se-señora_.”

Mrs. Ignacio visibly sagged in relief. She lifted herself up to her feet but unexpectedly locked eyes with Peter again. “ _You?_ ” she enunciated carefully, deliberately, her real question more than clear.

“Yes,” Mr. Bates thankfully answered for him. “Him too.”

Mrs. Ignacio seemed to accept the answer, nodding and then guiding Peter back to Ms. Williams. Mr. Bates extended a white doctor’s coat to Peter. Peter accepted it gingerly. “Wave that first before you go out,” Mr. Bates only said before trudging to the ER’s entrance.

“I’ll look out for Ned, Peter, don’t worry,” Dr. Palmer said. “We’re all going to be alright here, you’ll see.”

Peter nodded, yeah, he’ll _definitely_ see to that. He took hold of the wheelchair’s handles again and pushed Ms. Williams forward, Mrs. Ignacio’s free hand going up to his shoulder and moved along with them. About a few feet away from the entrance, Mr. Bates held out his hand to make them stop. He regarded them briefly, then, “When I tell you go, you go."

None of them voiced their confirmation to his instruction but the man seemed to be content on their silence and proceeded to opening the lock and then unwinding the chain. Peter squeezed the wheelchair’s handles, holding his breath, heart racing, while he watched the man finish the task, hoping and begging Parker Luck would turn a blind eye for five seconds, or even just one. One would be enough. Just, _please..._

Mr. Bates stepped away from the entrance. 

Peter almost cried in relief.

The man then proceeded to place himself along the wall, successfully gaining the best position to ward or shoot anyone who approached. “Go on, be quick,” he signaled.

Peter allowed himself to take in a deep breath before pushing Ms. Williams right before the entrance, the front wheels of the wheelchair bumping to the door. He turned to address Mrs. Ignacio quickly, “ _Avisaré a la-la policía. Enton-entonces vas primero, señora._ ” He didn’t wait for the woman to decide whether she wanted to argue or not and proceeded to nudge the door open. 

The unmuted racket of bystanders, sirens and police activity blared momentarily in Peter’s ears before it all melted into a single ringing white noise as Mrs. Ignacio knocked onto his elbow. He stuck to Mr. Bates’s instruction and slipped his arm out from the slit to frantically wave the coat a couple of times and adding in a few more to be sure. He gestured for Mrs. Ignacio and the woman hurriedly slipped outside. Peter didn’t allow himself to cheer. Mrs. Ignacio only made one for two. He hastily skipped around Ms. Williams to get behind her again. Ms. Williams extended her arms to further nudge the door open as Peter pushed her steadily forward. Time slowed down as the wheelchair began crossing the threshold bit by bit, each millimeter stretched into impossibly short, long miles:

_…halfway._

_A bit more..._

_Almost there, almost there—_

_—clear!Clear!Clear!Clear!_

Peter let go and grabbed the door bar and pulled it tightly shut.

The succeeding silence rivaled the explosive bang of the Galactic Empire's M-12 bomb.

Peter whirled around to stare up to Mr. Bates’s stunned face, shoulders squared and jaw clenched in stubborn defiance.

“S-shoot me, I don’t care. But I, I won’t leave, sir. I’m staying right here,” he declared.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _El Sr. Bates dijo que usted y su bebé también están saliendo, señora_ / Mr. Bates said you and your baby are going out too, ma'am.  
>  _Avisaré a la policía. Enton-entonces vas primero, señora_ / I'll signal the police. Then you go first, ma'am.
> 
> \--
> 
> Conclusion is coming in the next update~!  
> Thanks for reading, all the kudos and comments, dears!


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